Never Too Late
by Tilithia
Summary: A young vixen learns the sweetness of revenge after she learns that her parents were killed long ago in an effort to protect innocent creatures from death. UPDATED. I'd really like it if you could read and review!
1. Chapter 1

On the coarse dock of the Kingdom of Tazzur, two foxes, one male, the other female, stood back to back, teeth bared as a gang of corsairs surrounded them, leering at the two unpleasantly.

"Let's spear 'em!" taunted one of the antagonists, brandishing his sword. "Let's show 'em how we treat traitors!"

The vixen hissed, showing a fine display of white, pointy teeth. She had stunning green eyes and sharp, attractive facial features, which, at them moment, were contorted in fury. "You insolent dogs—untamed minions and slavering rogues! We were only doing what is right—no beast deserves what you did to that poor oarslave. No one, not even petty little squirrels!"

"I beg to differ, Blana," sneered a stoat with one eye, aptly named Oneeye. "In fact, I think it can be arrange for you and your mate to be tortured likewise—even worse, if I can help it. No one defies the orders of Lord Tazzur and lives to tell the tale!"

"If a King is low enough to have a baby squirrel tortured for crying, he's not fit to be a King at all!" roared the vixen's mate, Tarquis. "Now, haven't we jawed enough? Or are you not even brave enough to strike the first move, scumbags!"

Oneeeye snickered. "Nay, I think we shan't attack youse quite yet…after all, doesn't Blana have a babe herself? I think it would be all the fun to let the two traitors see their brat die first, eh?" he said to his fellows.

One of Oneeye's troupe, a fierce looking ferret with a heavily scarred face named Gurgpaw laughed and nodded. "Aye, I say we bludgeon the little brat, then stick it a bit with our sword, then cut out its tongue, and rip out its claws, and finally, we can drown the little rat, what d'ya say?"

Blana had suddenly gone pale—she had forgotten about her babe until this point. "You lay a paw on Tyleeria and I'll chop it off, you rot-eyed, scumnose vagabond!"

Oneeye looked far from intimidated at this insult; in fact, he even laughed. "Ah, I likes how these two talks so pretty, doncha agree, Partooth?" he commented lazily. "They was always the gennelbeasts—or, might I correct meself, they was always the weakbeasts. Only the weak bother to talk pretty and swish around their jewels and prance around in silks!" he sneered, looking pointedly at Blana's fine garments.

Partooth, a foul-looking fox with scraggly fur, gave a barking laugh and looked at Blana with an amorous interest. "Say, how about yeh let little Blana off the hook if she agrees to be my mate instead o' Tarquis'? Give 'er a chance to show she's one o' us…let her kill her mate, and if she does, let 'er come off wid me!"

Oneeye grinned at this and agreed heartily, mostly because he knew Blana would never abandon Tarquis anyways. "You heard Partooth, vixen, we'll give you a chance—slay your own mate now, and I'll let yer warm Partooth's bed instead, eh?"

Blana hissed in rage and was about to pounce on her offenders when Tarquis jumped in front of her, slaying the first beast that jumped at Blana. "Get out of here!" he roared at her. "Save the baby, Blana, save the baby!"

With that, he sprang at his attackers, hacking with his sword and bruising with his heavy metal mace. All the beasts ignored the immobile vixen as they fought to slay the wild fox that was causing such havoc.

Blana gave a small whimper of surprise and fear, which attracted the attention of Partooth. Leering at her ferociously, he jumped at her just as she sprang into a run.

"Ah, run, run, my pore little darlin'!" he teased, brandishing his blade as he ran to catch up with her. "Come to me, sweetheart, so you kin feel the kiss o' my blade!"

Blana sighted her home—a fine den garlanded with flowers and bits of shining glass. Panting, she wheeled around suddenly, thrusting her spear in front of her. Partooth, running at such a speed, gave a scream as he ran into the spear's sharp point, unable to stop himself. Blana smirked before rushing away from the corpse, back into the safety of her home.

She tore into her room, where a small vixen babe lay sleeping; it's breath coming in and out gently. Blana seized the baby and hugged it to her chest, whispering to it consolingly. "Don't worry, darling, mama's here; mama will protect you!" Peeping from a window, she saw that no one else seemed to be on her trail—probably still fighting with Tarquis, she though. Leaping from her house, she raced down the street until she spotted the home of her close friend, Chawna.

She banged at the door desperately, and Chawna opened the door, surprised etched on her pretty face. "Blana, what are you doing here?" she asked, but Blana butted in the home, closing the door quickly behind her.

"What's happening? What's wrong?" repeated the confused vixen Chawna, but Blana thrust her baby into Chawna's arms, still gasping heavily for breath.

"T-take the baby, please!" she said, leaning on a chair for support. "Raise my baby Tyleeria for me, Chawna—I beg you!"

"Why can't you raise her?" began Chawna, but Blana cut her off.

"Remember when I stopped Oneeye and his friend from torturing and slaying those two baby squirrels?" she asked. "Remember that Tarquis and I slew Rouet for already tortuing one of the poor things to death?" Well, now King Tazzur has ordered that Tarquis and I to be slain for treason…it was his order for the poor little slaves to be killed, and we stopped it. They're after me now, Chawna, and I don't have much time! Take Tyleeria, and raise her as your own. I trust you, Chawna, so please, please, do this last favor for me!" Blana begged, her green eyes shining with tears of helplessness. "Everyone knows you also have a babe—you gave birth only a few days ago, eh? Twins, right? Well, can't you just say you had triplets instead? Please, please, help me!" repeated Blana, sinking to her knees in front of her vixen friend.

"I'll help you—I'll raise Tyleeria," agreed Chawna quickly, hating to see her friend grovel to her like this. "I promise you, I'll raise her like my own. Lucky for you, I won't have to say I've had triplets—what an unlikely tale. One of my twins died yesterday…. Your pup could convincingly take its place. But you, Blana, what will you do?" she questioned.

Blana ignored the question. "Oh, Chawna, one thing….my babe has an odd birthmark, right on her left footpaw. Lord Tazzur has gotten wind of this, so make sure you hide the birthmark with soot, so it will not give her away…

Chawna nodded. "Of course. But, Blana, what are _you_ going to do?" she repeated.

Blana got up and smiled fearlessly, unsheathing her double sabres. "I'll give myself up to them, but not without a fight. I'll meet Tarquis at Hellgates, where we can share our lives together again, but not without bringing a few scumbeasts with me to clear my way first! "

"Brave and foolish Blana," said Chawna sadly, knowing it would be useless to try and persuade Blana to run and hide instead. "Run then, and meet your fate. I'll miss you!" she said in an outburst of compassion, unusual to vermin. "I will miss you very much, friend!"

Blana smiled, hugging Chawna briefly and stopping to kiss her baby one last time. "I'll miss you too," she said to Chawna, smiling wanly, and to her baby, she whispered, "Grow up tall, strong and beautiful, my babe, and never let foulbeasts like Tazzur and Oneeye oppress your pretty head. You're better than both of them combined, my dear, and let you not forget it!" she said compassionately.

Then, without a backward glance, she stepped out of Chawna's house and raced back up to the hill where Tarquis was slowly dying, half a dozen spears driven into him. His attackers were watching him die with a vindictive glee, still spitting and kicking at his prone form. The sight further enraged Blana, her eyes coming alive with a sort of frenzy.

"Oi, Uglytails, why don't you pick on someone's who's actually got a bit of life in her, eh?" she taunted. "Poking at a dying fox take a lot of courage, doesn't it, Oneeye?" she laughed coldly.

With this, she flung herself at Oneeye; her eyes wild and ears laid back on her head. With a rallying scream, she plunged her blade into the surprised Oneeye's chest, and he staggered, falling backward, immediately slain. When Oneeye's gang saw him fall, they all gave screams of rage as they threw themselves at the vixen, stabbing, thrusting, and plunging their blades into her body.

Blana slew two more of the beasts before the sabres fell limply from her paws. One of the rats shoved his sword into her back, and her eyes clouded as she fell next to the body of Tarquis, who had stayed alive only to see Oneeye fall. As she felt life slip away from her, Blana managed to smile as she though of Tyleeria, small, sweet, and innocent. "Don't stay here," she murmured, dying. "Get…away…from…this…place…when…you…grow…up…" she croaked, and then she died.

"Git away from this place when yer grow up?" repeated one of the vixen's killers, puzzled. "Wot's that supposed to mean?"

A fellow rat, Dargetail, whacked his friend across the ears. "Ah, yeh stoopid beast, she warn't talkin' to us! She was delusioning, yeh think lump!"

"Oh!" replied the other rat, rubbing his ears ruefully. "That's wot she was doing, harhar!"

Three of the rat's comrades gave him dirty looks, as if they thought he was thoroughly stupid, and he shut up abruptly. Dargetail prodded the vixen's body a few times with a spear, sighing with disgust. "Et was mighty stoopid of her to go traitor on us, warn't it, fellas? Blana warn't so bad, and neither was her mate, but they had to git funny ideas…they did us one last favor though, eh? She slew that bossy ragtail, goody-claws Oneeye," he spat.

Gurgpaw guffawed stupidly. "Aye, that she did, matey!" He surveyed Blana's bloody carcass for a few seconds before bending over it and snapping the dazzling jeweled pawbracelet from Blana's right paw. "She and Tarquis were richbeasts, weren't they?" he commented, pocketing his newfound treasure.

All of the other beasts were struck by Gurgpaw's words, and they immediately fell upon the two slain corpses, tearing away the fine silks, jewels, and expensive weapons that the two foxes had once possessed.

Mirage, a small female weasel with oddly dappled fur and eyes that seemed to glimmer different colors with her moods, twirled a decorative blade she had found on Blana's girdle. She was the youngest of the group—not even reaching full adulthood yet, but she was both good with words and with weapon. "I wonder what treasure they have in their den?" she said thoughtfully, her eyes shining a happy blue. "Who'd like to find out with me?"

Her friends gave a roar of approval, and a handsome male weasel named Tazicale who fancied Mirage gave her paw a squeeze as he winked at her. "Clever girl, yeh are!" he said fondly, looking at her hopefully, as if Mirage would suddenly give him a lavish kiss.

Mirage snorted, but accepted the compliment, then tore down with her companions to the traitors' home, which sat at the bottom of the hill, looking cheerful and inviting.Tearing down the door, Gurgpaw rampaged through the small, but grandiosely decked den, sorting through the many expensive ornaments to choose the best ones for himself. Mirage, however, wound herself around the main group of her companions, who were squabbling over a gold-wrought shield, and headed into the bedroom instead. She realized a good find when she saw one, pocketing a gold plate, a jeweled tiara, a silver and ruby pawbracelet, and two silk handkerchiefs embroidered with intricate designs before her fellow corsairs burst through, seizing as many fine items as they could.

"And to think I got first pick," murmured Mirage, smiling coldly, which strangely lit up her beautiful features. "Ah, now, look, so here's the little babe…!" she called loudly, motioning toward her friends to a large bassinet. "We'll see if Blana's brat has her parent's courage when she faces death!"

The half-score beasts left stopped fighting as they looked up at Mirage, interested. "The babe's there?" asked one of her friends.

Mirage yanked back the bassinet's silk curtain, and was disappointed to find it empty and bare.

"It's gone," she spat furiously. "Where is it? Where could it be?" she demanded, her voice sounding slightly childish for the first time in a long time.

"Why do you want it?" drawled Gurgpaw, raising an eyebrow. "What have you got against Blana's pup?"

"Blana's mate, Tarquis, slew my father," she whispered coldly. "I saw him do it—right before my eyes. My father, Rouet, was the one Lord Tazzur called upon to administer the torture and killing of those two ridiculous baby squirrels."

Mirage voice was childish no longer, and at that moment, she appeared to gain several seasons to her age with the fury she had etched on her face. Only pure hatred was stamped upon it—no other words would match the intense abhorrence she had for the two traitor foxes that had slain her father.

"My dear," comforted Tazicale, petting Mirage's paw., "Don't worry, we'll find the babe, and you can slay it to avenge your father. Rouet was a loyal Captain to Lord Tazzur's army, and we all knew him well. He was a good beast."

Some of the gang repressed snorts of disbelief at Tazicale's words. While they liked Mirage well enough, due to her charm and quick mind, they had never liked her father at all. He had been a pompous, fat creature, and many wondered how such an ugly beast could have ever sired such a beautiful female as Mirage. Tazicale shot them all furious glances putting leading Mirage out the door, motioning the others to follow him. "I think I know the only beast that Blana would leave her brat with. Come!" he ordered.

Chawna opened her door with trembling paws as she heard the knock that she had been expecting for some time. She peered up at the big weasel that smiled coldly at her. "May I help you, Tazicale?" she said politely, her left paw clamped on a dirk tightly. Her brown eyes radiated pure defiance as she faced Tazicale.

Tazicale bowed sarcastically before straightening and unsheathing his sword. "Blana has entrusted her kit with you, hasn't she?" he demanded, pushing the blade up to the vixen's throat in a menacing fashion.

Chawna pushed the blade away, her lip curling. "Of course she did!"

Tazicale was supremely taken aback. He had expected Chawna to deny any such action. Blinking, he regained his composure and leered at her. "Then step aside, vixen! Lord Tazzur's orders are that we get rid of Tarquis' family, right down to the last kit. Step aside!" he ordered again.

Chawna did not step aside, instead, she leaned against the doorframe of her house, looking contemptuous. "I knew you would be looking for her, so I saved you some trouble. I slew it myself, after Blana left it with me. I didn't want to get in trouble with harboring an illegal kit…so I killed it. If you'd like to see the body, I'll bring it to you."

Tazicale and Mirage's jaws dropped in disbelief. "You killed it?" they repeated, stunned. "You? We thought you were Blana's friend!"

Chawna grinned. "Indeed, I was, when Blana was still alive, but what's the use of staying friends with a deadbeast? Now, do you want to see the body, or may I get rid of it now?"

"Get the body," agreed Tazicale with a growl. "Then I will see if Blana's kit is really dead!"

Chawna nodded and went back into her home, returning with the slain body of a vixenbabe, complete with a cut throat. Chawna had nearly cried when she desecrated the body of her own dead kit, but she knew this was the only way. Straightening her face so that it was impassive, she thrust the babe for the weasel's inspection. "It's here, and it's dead, as you can see."

Tazicale inspected the body, taking extra care to look at the odd, crescent-shaped birthmark. He rubbed at it gently, and it didn't smear or rub. Satisfied, he flung the babe up in the air, and slashed down upon it with his sword, chopping the tiny body in two pieces. "You're right, Chawna, it is dead. Well, sorry, Mirage, but there's nothing we can do about it now…tis long gone to Hellgates."

Mirage shrugged and turned away. "As long as it's dead, I could care less. Let's leave now…I'm sure Chawna is sick of us standing in her doorway. After all, she has lost a loved one too, eh?"

At first Chawna thought Mirage had seen through her plan—that she knew that the dead kit was her own, and not Blana's. Then she remembered that her mate had been slain only a few days before, and relaxed. "Yes, indeed," she replied stiffly. "My mate was a brave creature."

Mirage could relate to this, and even though she had just witnessed the decapitation of a dead baby, she could feel the pain of losing a loved one. Vermin were very fickle creatures. Chawna closed the door gently as they beasts left her doorstep, and leaned against it, sighing with relief. After peeping out the window to assure that her visitors were truly gone, she hastened to her baby's bassinet, where her own babe, a fuzzy malefox, and Blana's babe were curled up together, sleeping. She smiled at them, stroking them both with a gentle paw.

"One day, revenge will be taken on Tazicale, for destroying the body of my poor dead babe," she whispered to her own foxcub. "You'll slit his cowardly throat for him, eh, Sparit? And you, Tyleeria, whom I must christen 'Deilia' after my dead child, will slay the others to avenge your mother and father, who were goodbeasts. I'll teach you all I know, and you will have your revenge!"


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: It all belongs to Brian Jacques…except the characters I made up. They're MINE. Muahaha!

SEVENTEEN SEASONS LATER

"Take that, you blithering brushtail! Is that the best you can do?" teased a handsome fox, son of Chawna the foxwife. He tickled his sister's tail with his dulled bladepoint as they sparred in the sword practices that their mother insisted upon them each day.

Deilia, daughter of Blana the traitor, but known to everyone else as daughter of Chawna and twin sister of Sparit, spun around to face her brother, spinning her blade artistically as she dodged and wove around him, almost as if she were dancing. "I let you get that close to me, blatherbrains!" she barked, spinning around him suddenly to nick the back of her brother's neck lightly. "You would have been a deadbeast there!" she crowed. "And all I would have lost is a tail!"

"Aye, bet you wouldn't look half as pretty without a tail, Deilia!" retorted Sparit, tossing his head mockingly. "Taste my blade, fiend!"

The two siblings and very good friends fought with ease, their blades flashing in the morning sun in an almost playful manner. Both were, even to the most inexperienced eye, excellent swordsbeasts, and it became difficult to decide which would beat the other in the friendly sparring match. Finally, the vixen stamped on her brother's tail swiftly, then whacked him hard across the ears with the blunt of her blade, flooring him as he rubbed his head ruefully.

"Not so hard next time!" he grumbled, touching his bruised forehead tenderly. "I didn't hit you _that _hard last time I beat you!"

"Not last time, but remember a few months ago, when you bit my ear? Well, that's my bit of revenge for that particular incident," replied Deilia tartly, smiling sweetly at her brother. "Cheers."

"As a matter of cheers," grumbled Sparit good-naturedly, "Want to head down to Urga's for a pint of elderberry wine? Tis good stuff!" he said blissfully.

"Mother doesn't approve of you drinking so much," said Deilia, eyeing her brother carefully. "You know that! She knows those local ruffians that hang around there, at Urga's…"

Sparit shrugged. "Urga's got the best brew around, sis…and mum won't have to know…besides, I promised Dragonflame I'd introduce you…"

Deilia grinned and pulled a face. "Dragonflame is good-looking, but not nearly as bright as he is handsome…I still find it hard to believe that he knows how to read."

"He can't stop talking about you," said Sparit wisely. "He talks about the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you toss your head, the way you waggle your tail, the way you eat, for heaven sakes!"

"I waggle my tail?" asked Deilia doubtfully, while her brother snorted with laughter. "Dragonflame must be imagining things…."

"Oh, no, I don't think so," said Sparit, in a mocking, solemn voice. "He speaks of the awe-inspiring waggling tail every day."

"Ahh, you're kidding me!" retorted Deilia, giving her brother a paw. "Let's try some of this wine, then, shall we?"

"No telling mum though!" warned Sparit.

"Or course not!" replied Deilia innocently. Leaning casually on her brother's arm, they strolled to the local bar, where three unruly rats were arguing over the results of a gambling game.

"Two pints of elderberry wine, Urg!" called Sparit, banging his sword on the counter as he called to the fat foxwife. "And meet my sister, Deilia. She's never tried any of your wine before, so she's in for a treat, eh?"

Urga cast an appraising eye over Deilia, then smiled hugely. "She's a pretty wee thing, she is, meh dear Sparit. Don't look a bit like you or the Missus though, I have to add! Did yore poor dead pappy have green blinkers like hers?"

"Um…" Sparit's tail twitched a little as he shrugged. "Maybe one of my grandparent's had green eyes like hers. No matter, really. Now, the wine, please, Urga?"

Urga cast one last calculating look at Deilia before sliding to goblets to them. "There you go, Master Sparit, and Lady Deilia. Hope yeh enjoy it!"

Sparit nodded, tossing Urga a few coins in payment before leading his sister to where three of his closest friends were sitting, drinking their own drinks while talking loudly.

Dragonflame's jaw dropped as he clapped eyes on Deilia. "You actually brought 'er, Spar?" he asked his friend numbly. "Yeh should have tol' me you was going to, and I woulda did a better job on dressin' today!" he protested fiercely.

Sparit snorted, taking a seat. "You ain't got but one outfit anyways, scrufftail," he joked, sliding into ship's slang as Dragonflame reddened.

"Aw, shut up," he muttered, lowering his head. "I got more fancy belts 'n swords than you, bugnose."

"And where'd you steal them from? You're mama's closet?" sneered Sparit, as his other friends roared with laughter.

Dragonflame clammed up huffily, glaring at his best friend in bottled fury. Sparit chuckled and whacked his friend's back in a friendly manner. "Yew know I was jest jokin', Dragonbottom!"

Dragonflame remained glaring and moping, so Sparit used the time to steal Dragonflame's mug and take a big gulp of it. "Ah, nothing like a good spiceroot ale between friends, eh?"

Dragonflame snatched back his mug, shoving Sparit while trying to suppress a grudging smile. "Make fun of me if yeh will, Spar, but never take a fox's drink!"

"I'll remember that one," replied Sparit amiably, winking at the female ferret that was sitting next to Dragonflame. "Aye, Keona, I heard you were made a Captain of the Army, is that true?"

Keona smiled shyly and nodded. While this shyness seemed like a weakness to the eye, anybeast that knew her well dared not to cross her path if she had a bow and a quiver in her reach. Keona was often known as having the keenest eyes in the whole army, along with one of the fastest reflexes as well.

"Good job on that!" said Deilia, smiling at Keona. "I knew you could do it!"

Keona returned the smile and giggled. "It's not as good being a Captain as you lot think it is," she admitted. "It's actually a lot of rules, and a lot of bowing before High Lord Tazzur," she said, shaking her head. "Since I'm a new Captain, I only command a sector of one and a half score beasts—not much at all."

Sparit sighed. "I was actually hoping Tazzur would choose me as the next Captain, but at least it was you and not that uglyface, Charick."

Charick was a stout and particularly ugly male weasel who was fond of yelling and ordering beasts around. His temper was short, as were his wits, and he overall hated everyone, except for an obsessive infatuation of the middle-aged, gorgeous assassin, Mirage.

"Ah, if Tazzur chose Charick, I think I would have killed Charick right off…or maybe Tazzur," said Dragonflame thoughtfully.

"Shhh!" spat Keona, looking around furtively. "Lord Tazzur has spies everywhere, and if he heard you say that, you'd be deader than a mouse playing hide and seek with a wildcat, my friend."

Dragonflame shrugged off the thought and chuckled, but he looked around himself in a nervous fashion all the same. There was an awkward silence before Keona stood up, dusting off her paws. "Ah, well, I guess I should be getting on to my duties again…nice talking to you guys."

Deilia and Sparit stood up as well, smiling ruefully. "We should get a start back home too," agreed the two. "Our mother is dead fierce when it comes to drinking…she mustn't know we've been to the bar."

"Ah, two strong wee beasties, afraid of their mummy," teased Dragonflame. "Run along now, Sparit!" he grinned, and as an afterthought, added, "And will you oblige on a walk by the beach with me, Deilia? Tonight, perhaps?"

Deilia blushed, and though she did not fancy Dragonflame, she decided to humor him. "Alright, that sounds nice," she said amiably. "I'll meet you next to Hook's Boulder, if that's okay with you."

Dragonflame couldn't believe his luck, and he nearly tripped over his chair as he got up quickly. "Oh, definitely fine with me, Deilia! I'll bring you some of my mum's best strawberry cream candies too, you'll love those!" he babbled. "And some flowers, wouldn't you like some nice flowers."

Deilia was taken aback, and began to say that she didn't need flowers, but happened to see the hopeful look on Dragonflame's face. Not only was he offering all these things to her, he _wanted_ to do these things for her. "Flowers…. They sound wonderful!" she said brightly. "You're too sweet!"

Dragonflame grinned bashfully, then practically ran out of the bar. Halfway out, he stumbled, fell flat on his face, then got up rubbing a bruised nose. Turning back to grin at her sheepishly, he stumbled out again.

Sparit watched Dragonflame go with a shake of his head. "You shouldn't play with his feelings like that, Deilia. Dragonflame's a fickle fellow, and while he's nice most of the time, he can be downright mean. Watch out for yourself when playing with types like him…you might find out it's too dangerous for your liking."

"Faw, I could best Dragonflame at a swords fight any day," sneered Deilia, but as she surveyed her brother's worried face, she sighed. "I suppose you're right though. I'll tell Dragonflame tonight that I only like him as a friend…so that he doesn't grow on me too much."

"He already has," replied Sparit darkly. "Let's get on home now, and not a word of this to mother. If you told her Dragonflame's courting you, she'd never approve. You know how close Dragonflame is with that Mirage…he's always chatting with her, although she's nearly eighteen seasons his senior. Mum hates Mirage and her mate Tazicale too. She doesn't even let us talk to them!"

"Oh, fine," said Deilia bitterly. "Fine. But I hate keeping secrets from mother…she always seems to discover out I'm lying anyways."

"You won't be lying, you'll just be keeping something from her. Besides, it's not like you're hiding the fact that you've murdered someone or something…."

Deilia shrugged moodily as they entered their home—a small house with a thatched roof with a neat stained glass window set in the door. "Mum, we're done with practice!" she called. "We met up with some friends at the…um…"

"Barracks," finished Sparit hastily. "Yeah, you know, Keona got promoted to Captain!"

Chawna appeared in the small entrance hall, her eyes still bright and merry, and she still possessed much of her former beauty, but her fur was now beginning to be flecked with grey, and her whiskers were thinning out. "Ah, Keona, the pretty little ferretmaid?" mused Chawna. "Lord Tazzur made a good choice…our little Keona is a formidable fighter!"

"I agree," said Sparit, reaching out to take an apple from the basket his mother was carrying. "Ow!"

Chawna slapped his paw again, looking at him with disapproval. "These apples are for the pie I'm making, Mr. Theiveall. If you want pie tonight, then you better not steal any of these applies!"

Sparit sighed and turned away. "Alright."

Chawna smiled at her children fondly before rubbing her paw in some soot and dusting it over a small patch of fur on her daughter's footpaw, where an odd crescent-shaped birthmark was beginning to show. "Remember, daughter, reapply the sticky soot to hide this birthmark every four hours! You can't let anyone see it…I told you how dangerous it could be to your life!"

It was Deilia's turn to sigh. "Why is it dangerous? Why won't you ever tell me?"

"Because," said Chawna firmly. "You don't need to know yet. Perhaps someday, but certainly not today, when I'm planning to make a delicious pie in celebration for your seventeenth season birthday!"

Sparit's jaw dropped. "It's out birthday today? I nearly forgot! Did you get us gifts?" he added, slightly embarrassed.

Chawna smiled knowingly. "I find it hard to believe that you two actually forgot your birthday. For you, Sparit, I have a new ivory-handed dagger, inlaid with fine stones. It was your father's before he was murdered."

Sparit took the weapon gingerly and admired it in the sparkling sun. "It's wonderful! So sharp and easy to grasp! It fits my paw perfectly!"

"And you, Deilia, I have this…" she offered her daughter a dazzling bracelet, sparkling with so many gems that it was hard to look at it without one's eyes hurting. "It was…a gift from someone very special to me, and I thought you should have it."

Deilia held her breath as she tried it on. It fit perfectly. "Oh, mother!" she breathed. "It's gorgeous! I'm afraid to even wear such a fine thing!"

"I'm glad you like it," she said, smiling. "Now, for the pie. You two, run along now, and I'll call you in when I'm ready."

As Chawna watched her nearly grown-up children run of gleefully to show off their new gifts, she couldn't help but smile and wonder how long such a wonderful dream could last.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to all who reviewed! I appreciate it greatly! Keep them coming, everyone!**

Mitchel yawned supremely as he put down the scour that he was scrubbing the infirmary floor with. Rolling his eyes, he sat down on the cold marble floor that radiated cleanness and coolness, rubbing his sore knees and paws. "Shaw, this is stupid," he muttered. "Who knew Mother Tuloo would get so mad at some silly joke?"

His accomplice, a pretty squirrelmaid, grinned and took a seat beside the lean and well-built mouse. "Ah, don't kid yourself, Mitch. You knew Tuloo would get mad about that, or else you wouldn't have tried lying to her. You're a pretty pathetic liar too, you know."

The handsome mouse stuck out his chin. "And you could have told a better one, Trenn?"

Trenn giggled and fluttered her eyelashes, preening her shiny red-gold fur. "Of course. Everyone would believe the fawning squirrelmaid."

Mitchel snorted. "You think that you could get away with tying three of the Abbey Elders together by their habit strings and watching them trip down the stairs? C'mon, even you know that we didn't mean them to fall like that…Brother Gort twisted his ankle awfully bad, and he won't be able to walk without a crutch for two weeks."

Trenn shrugged uncomfortably. "You said it already—we didn't mean for that to happen. We just thought it'd be funny for them to wake up and to find themselves all tangled up together. That's all. The idea was quite harmless, really!" she protested defensively.

Mitchel tried to free himself from guilt with this heartening thought, but it didn't work. "D'ya ever wonder if we're getting a bit too old for these jokes?" he asked. "I mean, we'll both be seventeen seasons old in a few days…only a day, in your case, and perhaps we should start acting more grown-up…"

Trenn sighed. "I don't wanna grow up," she pouted. "Soon, we'll all be old and stiff anyways. If we don't have fun, what's the point of living? Abbeylife is quite a bore, if you ask me."

Mitchel nodded, agreeing to his friend's statement. "Abbeylife is for oldsters and Dibbuns. No one with a imagination or a sense of action lives in an Abbey."

"Skipper does," chimed Trenn. "And he's strong and active. And so does half of his otter crew."

"Aye, that's right, but they also leave the Abbey for about half a season each year to spend time with their tribe and to host their yearly fishing events. If I could get away from the Abbey for half a season each year, it would be good enough for me."

Trenn got up again, dusting her paws. "I suppose you're right, but what can we do? Run away? That might be fun," she added thoughtfully.

"Run away?" snapped Mitchel, disgusted. "Do you realize that we're two teenage Abbeybeasts with limited knowledge of using weapons and nearly no knowledge of any land half a mile away from Redwall? We'd get lost, killed, or kidnapped, and then we'd get ransomed or something stupid like that. "

"If we ran away and got murdered, perhaps the Abbot and Mother Tuloo and all those other old snuffleheads would be sorry then!" retorted Trenn indignantly. "You really think we'd be that hopeless on our own, Mitch? You're one of the best dagger throwers in the Abbey, even Skipper admitted that! And I'm not bad with a bow, you know."

"Considering that our Abbey is full of…" he lowered his voice vindictively, "…silly oldsters or country bumpkins, that's not saying much."

"Some are okay," said Trenn slowly. "Like Sancha, she's nice, and so is Pierre."

"Pierre and Sancha are 'okay' because they're our age and understand what it's like to be cooped up in a boring Abbey! And they're still not as adventurous in spirit as we are!" snapped Mitchel. "Perhaps you have a point…maybe we should run away. I don't really mind being killed as long as I've experienced a bit of adventure before I die!"

"Attaboy!" said Trenn enthusiastically. "When are we leaving? Soon?" she asked hopefully. "I can sneak out now and grab some supplies, and then we can be on our jolly ole way! Maybe the Guosim would let us borrow one of their boats when we reach the sea, and then we can sail far away from this place. Just think, we could be pirates or ravishing buckaroos!"

"Nah, I think we should plan this out better, Trenn. This is a big decision we're making here," said Mitchel. "I think we should wait a few days, or even a week or so. We have to make sure we bring food, weapons, a few traveling cloaks, and perhaps we need to nick a few things incase we need to trade it for the boat we're going to get."

"Steal some things? Like what?" asked Trenn. "But I suppose you're right, no one will give us a boat for free."

"Well, you know," said Mitchel casually. "We'll take some nice silverware the Friar's got hidden up for special occasions, and then there's that nice jade vase in the gatehouse. And some of the Sisters have a few petty beads and trinkets that could be worth something. Oh, we'll find nice things to repay them when we finally come back," he said hastily, as Trenn goggled at him.

"We can't steal," she said firmly. "That's not the way we are! I'm willing to sacrifice some of my nice things though, and you can sacrifice your new belt and fancy dagger. You can use your old dagger instead."

"And what are you going to give up?" replied her friend haughtily.

"I've got two decent pawbracelets, a pretty carved tailring and several nice silk sashes that might be fanciful," said Trenn with a wave of her paw. "It might not buy us a boat, but we could always tell the whomever we're getting it from that we'll return it when we come back. And if it happens that the boat gets damaged on our voyage, we'll find some way to pay that back when the time comes. Besides," she said skeptically, "why are we worrying about getting a boat already, when the sea's at least half a score days away? We have plenty of walking and hiking to do before we need to goggle over a boat."

"I'm preparing," said Mitchel wisely. "But I agree, we won't steal anything from the Sisters and Brothers. It would only give them more reason to hunt us back."

"We'll have to leave in the dead of night, so that no one will be able to discover we're missing until hours and hours later," added Trenn. "You know Tuloo, she'd come get us back herself."

Mitchel grinned. "And whack our tails like how she did when we were Dibbuns."

"So, the plan is on?" said Trenn, raising her eyebrows and holding out a slim paw.

Mitchel took it and shook paws with her, smirking. "You bet, my dear treewalloper! We won't be stuck in this Abbey for long!"

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In the sunny orchards of Redwall Abbey, Father Abbot Porter, Mother Tuloo and the newly crippled Brother Gort were discussing about the two most rambunctious Abbey beasts, young Trenn and Mitchel.

"They're young; they'll grow out of it," assured Abbot Porter wisely. "I'm sure once they've scrubbed that infirmary clean, and then scrubbed down the kitchens as well, they'll be sure to stay away from trouble for a while," he said, buttering a hot scone. "Mmm, delicious!" he added, taking a bite of the warm biscuit.

Mother Tuloo, a great female badger with handsome hazel-colored eyes snorted. "You think so, Abbot? Those two rips have caused more trouble than all the other beasts combined! They never learn, no sir! You remember two seasons ago? They painted all the Sister's faces when they were sleeping, and then covered all the Brothers with feathers. Then, last season, when they dug a ditch in right outside the Abbey entrance when they new we were expecting visitors from Salamandastron? Colonel Groon swears his footpaw has never been the same after that fall. And then, this season, with that ridiculous falling down the stairs business with you and Sister and Brother Gort! Each time they got punished, Abbot, and never have they learned!"

"Well, what do you suppose we do?" asked Brother Gort, wincing as Tuloo shifted slightly, trodding on his twisted paw. "Careful please!"

Tuloo straightened back up, smiling apologetically. "Sorry, Brother. Well, I'm not quite sure what we're suppose to do with those young'uns, but I think what they need is something to do. If they had something constructive to do, they wouldn't be wasting their time thinking up these silly tricks."

"What job could possibly occupy the interests of two adventures teenaged jokesters like those two? They would find no interest in being assistant cooks or scribes, and they're far too old to find bell-ringing exciting," sighed the Abbot. "They want adventure, because they don't realize how dangerous and scary the real world can be. They think it is all adventure, and no consequences."

"Well…"began Mother Tuloo slowly. "I have an idea. I have made a bejeweled silver scepter for the Lord of Salamandastron, Lord Silverspike. He is a good friend of mine, and I would love for him to take this gift as a sign of continuing friendship. We could have it so that Trenn, Mitchel, and two of Skipper's strong seasoned otters could bring this scepter to Salamandastron for me. It would be an exciting experience for Trenn and Mitch, and we could sleep freely knowing that Skipper's otters are there to protect them from real harm."

"Brilliant plan, Tuloo!" agreed Brother Gort. "And I could sleep even better knowing that I won't wake up with tar and feathers all over my face! Bravo!" he said heartily.

Abbot Porter hesitated for a few seconds, then nodded slowly. "I suppose that might solve the problem, at least for a while. Maybe then Mitchel and Trenn will learn to appreciate Abbeylife, after they've lived on stale scones and sleeping on the hard floor for a while."

Brother Gort laughed. "Do you think so, Abbot? Personally, I doubt they'll change a bit, but it'd still be nice to be rid of them for a season. And…do you suppose Lord Silverspike would let them run around with the Long Patrol for another season or two? That would certainly be a blessing."

"Aye, and perhaps he could beat a little discipline into them too," agreed Mother Tuloo heartily. "It's settled then. I suppose we'll tell Trenn and Mitchel when they both turn seventeen seasons…that's a reasonable age for adventure. So, in about half a score of days, they can begin their journey. They should be pleased—what a birthday surprise for them!"

"Yes, that sounds about right," said Abbot Porter amiably. "That'll let them take part in the Summer Feast right before they leave, which might be enough to make them regret leaving the Abbey…after all, there are no cooks like the cooks of Redwall!"

Brother Gort chortled, scratching his headspikes. "They'd give up scones and meadowcream any season for a taste of adventure, Abbot. Don't you remember when you were young and reckless like them? I don't blame them for being naughty, I just think they've gone a bit far…"

Porter grinned sheepishly, his tail twitching awkwardly. "Actually, Brother, I've never been reckless like those two…I've always been quite the average, quiet sort of mouse, you know. Never taken to running about screaming and tar and feathering beasts, really."

Mother Tuloo snorted. "That's what a Father Abbot must say, I suppose, but I've heard tales about your childhood, Abbot, and others don't seem to share the exact same views as you do on your childhood. They seemed to think that you enjoyed stealing the Friar's pies, removing their fillings, and refilling them with hotroot pepper instead. Does that sound like a familiar joke to you, Abbot?"

Abbot Porter flushed and shrugged. "Ah, well, an Abbot's got to have a bit of fun," he said, smiling complacently, as Brother Gort howled with laughter. "And I'll remind you, Brother Gort, that you weren't such a polite little Dibbun either! Remember what you did to Sister Sari's scarves?"

"Never said I was a polite Dibbun, no sir!" giggled Brother Gort in a childlike way. "I was a troublemaker, I'll admit! But not as troublesome as Mother Tuloo, you can imagine. Think of a great badger like her playing tricks on little mice and squirrels and sorts!"

The three friends laughed at the thought of the respectable Mother tying the tails of Abbey mice together. Finally, Mother Tuloo stood up, dusting off her paws and stretching in the warm sunlight.

"I think I'll go check on those two troublemakers now, if you don't mind, Porter. I've got a suspicion that they've done nothing but collect dust during that time they were supposed to be cleaning the infirmary."

Her two friends nodded and Tuloo made her way to the Abbey infirmary, swinging open the infirmary door to reveal a sparklingly clean room.

"Trenn, Mitchel!" she exclaimed. "Did you really clean all this?"

"How else do you suppose it got so clean?" muttered Trenn. "Rooms don't clean themselves, marm!"

Tuloo ignored this smart comment and instead walked around the infirmary, inspecting the floors and neatly made beds. "Well, you did a good job!" she agreed. "It just proves that you _can_ do something if you put your hearts into it, you two!"

Mitchel and Trenn made faces behind Tuloo's back and she continued to lecture them.

"If you put your minds and efforts into doing nice things for everyone, you wouldn't get into all this trouble, you know. Just think, if you two were good once in a while, then maybe you'd get punished less and rewarded more. Come now, is it really that fun to cause trouble and watch other beasts get hurt? Of course not!" she said severely, turning around swiftly to look at the squirrelmaid and young mouse, who froze, their faces still distorted in funny positions.

"Can we go now? Marm?" pleaded Trenn, straightening up quickly. "We did a good job, you said it yourself!"

"Indeed, and now you can do a good job to the kitchen by scrubbing it down as well," replied the Mother serenely. "You don't think I'd drop punishment for two disasters like you, do you?"

Trenn and Mitchel muttered darkly, but said nothing. Mother Tuloo gazed at them for a few seconds before saying kindly, "I have a good news for you—a special treat that I'll be telling you about in a few days. You'll enjoy it, I'm sure. It's a wonderful surprise."

With that, she stalked out of the infirmary, leaving the two young ones looking at each other, nonplussed.

"A treat? A surprise?" exclaimed Trenn, disgusted. "Do you think she promoted us to assistant Recorder and assistant Friar or something? We'd better get out of here as soon as possible!"

Mitchel nodded fervently. "Tuloo's treats aren't exactly as good as she says they are," he said bitterly. "It's probably that we get to clean all the Abbey walls or something. Let's get planning right away, because I'm not staying in this Abbey a minute longer than I have to!"

"Treat or no treat," agreed Trenn.


	4. Chapter 4

Deilia ate dinner quickly, wolfing down her mother's pie as she fidgeted subconsciously. She would gulp down several bites of food, then check the progress of the setting sun every few minutes. Sparit kicked her footpaw under the table as Chawna looked at her daughter curiously. "My, but aren't you hungry, dear! What have you been doing, starving yourself?"

Deilia smiled in a preoccupied manner. "Of course not, mother. I just…really like your food. It's delicious."

Chawna wasn't fooled, and she knew something was amiss. However, she simply nodded. "Well, growing beasts often have large appetites. Have some more pie, Deilia, and you too, Spar."

Sparit cut himself another slice, but Deilia refused politely. "Actually, mum, I'm going to visit some friends at the barracks for a while, alright? Some of them have gotten wind that it's my birthday, so they're planning a party for me."

"How nice of them," replied Chawna, smiling. "Go ahead, but no heavy drinking, no gambling, and you _must_ be back by dark."

"All my friends' parents let them drink and gamble. Why can't I do all that stuff?" complained Sparit, but Deilia nodded at her mother's words and hopped up, wiping her paws.

"Of course, mother! I'll stick to your rules, and if you find out I've broken them, you can whack me with that nice mace you keep in your bedroom," she said, grinning.

Chawna smiled as her daughter exited, and then turned to frown upon her son, who was drinking his watered-down grog distastefully. "Do you really want to become a drunken gambler, like most of your friends will turn out to be, Sparit Flaizclaw?"

Sparit scowled. "I wouldn't become a drunken gambler, mother! I'm not that thick! I just hate sitting there, watching my friends play Three Shell and Black Stick while I have to sit there, watching them! Hellsteeth, and why can't I drink real grog and beer? I know beasts younger than me who're drinking!"

"Watch your language, Sparit," said Chawna sharply. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but I'm going to drive this into you, once and for all. You are not allowed to gamble because it's addictive and most likely, you'll end up losing all your nice possessions instead of gaining anything at all. You are not permitted to drink because drinking becomes an addictive habit as well, and you'll discover yourself spending loads of jewels and gold for kegs of the stuff. Plus, it'll put you out of shape as well. So, there you have it, young fox!"

Sparit scowled again. "But mother…!" he began again, but Chawna cut him off.

"Really, my word is final, Sparit! You've been a bit rebellious as of late! Why don't I get this kind of trouble from your sister? You can behave just as well as she does, if you'd just try!" she snapped, taking up the plates a bit forcefully.

Sparit watched his mother stride out of them room, headed toward the kitchens. "Hah, _perfect_ Deilia," he sneered. "Wouldn't Mother like to know where her _perfect_ daughter is now? Not at a birthday party, I'll wager!"

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Deilia hurried out of the house, taking a few cautious looks behind her before sprinting off toward the beach, which was a decent walk away. After a few minutes, she spotted the oddly shaped Hook's Boulder, and next to it, Dragonflame.

"Oy, over here!" he called, waving, and Deilia jogged over to meet up with him. "You look stunning, like always!" he offered gushingly.

Deilia smiled in an embarrassed manner, and there was a small awkward silence. "Ah…thanks," said Deilia finally, and Dragonflame beamed.

"I brought you the flowers, see?" he said, presenting a large bouquet of orchids and azaleas to her. "They're from my mum's garden, home grown. Do you like them?"

"You shouldn't have!" said Deilia, accepting them uncomfortably. "But I hope your mum doesn't get mad at you for chopping down her flowers."

"Ah, she won't mind," said Dragonflame with a wave of his paw. "And what can she do about it anyways? Spank me? I'd like to see her try!" he sneered.

Deilia frowned upon this lack of respect, but said nothing. He offered her his paw, and they began a steady stroll across the beach, the sun setting in the distance like a bright red orb.

"I would have brought you strawberry creams too, but my mum didn't feel like making them," he said apologetically. "I'll have you come over sometime though, so you can try some. They're wonderful."

"I bet they are," agreed Deilia. There was another awkward pause until Deilia asked, "So, are you planning on entering Lord Tazzur's army as a corsair or an army soldier?"

Dragonflame grinned at her. "As a corsair of course! I have twice as much fun at sea than I do on land! Have you ever been out at sea?" he asked.

Deilia shook her head. "I've been around the docks and sea ports a lot, but I haven't ever sailed out into open waters. I've heard it's beautiful."

"Yeah," admitted Dragonflame. "It is, but that's not how it's so great. It's the openness, the feeling of freedom that makes it so awesome! I'll have to take you out to sea one day; you'd love it."

Deilia frowned. Dragonflame was speaking as if they'd be together for a long time—as if they'd be mates one day. "Look, Dragonflame, I want to say—," she started, but Dragonflame took her paw and began pulling her toward the ocean.

"Come on, let's ride some waves!" he barked, jumping into the cool seawater. He splashed her as she stepped into the water cautiously, wary of snappy crabs or lobsters. The two waded in the water leisurely, enjoying the favorable water temperature. Deilia dived under the water, practicing her diving strokes for a few minutes. When she returned to the surface, she discovered Dragonflame was gone.

"Dragon?" she asked tentatively. "Dragonflame?"

Suddenly, something seized one of her footpaws, and she was pulled under. The thing let so equally quickly, and she thrust her head out of the water, sputtering. "Dragon!" she choked, coughing up water. Glancing up and blinking, she saw Dragonflame laughing heartily a few feet away from her.

"Gotcha there, Deilia!" he teased, splashing her again. "Nyah, you can't catch me!"

"Oh yeah?" challenged Deilia. "You're asking for it!"

She kicked the water with a footpaw, splashing Dragonflame in the face. Giggling, she struck her paws in the water again, so that Dragonflame recoiled slightly, rubbing water from his eyes. As he was spitting out the salty taste from his mouth, she swam behind him and yanked his tail. Dragonflame hopped up, stumbling in the water, barking with laughter.

"Watch it, watch it!" he yelled playfully. "This tail is my pride and joy here, so make sure you don't pull out any fur!"

Laughing they waded back to the warm sand, where they lay down and basked in the final rays of the sun. Deilia actually began to feel a slight attraction to the foolhardy fox beside her when he stopped playing with her ear and spoke.

"What's that?"

"What?" she asked, looking up at him. "What's what?"

"That," he repeated, stroking her footpaw. "Like a funny little half moon on your paw. Like a new crescent moon," he repeated. "Kinda cute."

Deilia scrambled up hastily. "It's nothing! Forget about it!" she snapped, suddenly annoyed and worried. "Just a silly birthmark!"

Dragonflame was taken aback. "Cool it, Deilia. Why're you getting so fired up about a birthmark. I still like you just as much, even though it's a little weird…."

"Forget about it, okay!" hissed Deilia shrilly.

"I don't mind a birthmark, I still like you a lot," repeated Dragonflame doggedly.

"I don't _care_ if you like me or not! _I_ don't even like you! Can't you take a hint?" she snapped, then wished she hadn't said it as Dragonflame's lower lip began to tremble.

"Look, Dragon, I didn't mean to say that…" she began, but Dragonflame stood up, his face hard.

"Forget it then. If you don't like me, then why'd you agree to go out with me?" he demanded. "Why?"

"I like you, Dragonflame," she said miserably. "Just not…like _that_."

"Well, you acted like you liked me!" he snarled. "And you accepted my flowers, and played in the water with me, and then when I see some stupid birthmark, you explode. What's with that?"

"Please, you don't understand," whispered Deilia. "I do like you, Dragonflame…you're one of my best friends and maybe, one day, we could be more than that, but not now. Just please, please, don't' tell anyone what you saw today. Don't ever tell anyone about that birthmark, Dragonflame."

"Well, guess what? I don't really think I want to be more than 'just friends' anymore. In fact, I don't even think I want to be your _friend_ anymore. You pretend you like me, and then just reject me later? You catty little vixen!" he spat. "I won't tell anyone about that birthmark though, if you don't want me to. I'm not a liar, like you."

"I didn't lie!" pleaded Deilia. "I'm really sorry, Dragonflame. Really, really sorry."

"Forget it," spat Dragonflame again, calming down a little. "Just go home. I'm not sorry I yelled, but I am sorry I'm such a fool."

Deilia padded away, tears running down her face as she scurried back her, sniffing. Dragonflame stood on the beach, watching her go with an expression of pain, anger, and disgust. Then, swearing violently, he made his way toward the bar for a drink.

As Deilia's home came into view, she scrubbed her face with the back of her paw, hoping that she didn't look like she'd cried. Opening the front door tentatively, she was glad to find that her mother was already in bed, and Sparit was sitting up, practicing dagger throwing with a small target pinned to the wall.

"You've been crying," noticed Sparit wisely. "What happened?"

"Is Mother--?"

"Asleep, yes. Now, what happened? He didn't hurt you, did he?" he demanded. "Because if he did, I'll break his nose for you."

"I could break his nose myself, if I wanted," sniffed Deilia sadly. "But we did get in a fight."

"Over what?" asked Sparit, smirking. "Did you tell 'im you didn't like his ickle strawberwee cweams?" he teased.

"He saw that birthmark mum told me to keep hidden. We were playing in the water, and I completely forgot about it, and…he saw it. He even said something about it!" she said wildly. "I don't know what to do about it, Spar!"

Sparit was stunned. His mother had always cautioned his sister to keep the strange birthmark hidden, under all circumstances. Finding his voice, he asked slowly, "Has Mother ever told you why you can't show anyone that birthmark thing?"

"Never!" said Deilia hopelessly, collapsing into a chair. "She's never said anything about it except that I can't show it to anybody!"

Sparit was quiet for a few seconds before speaking again. "Go tell Mother about this, Deilia."

"What!" exclaimed Deilia, flabbergasted. "Mum'll flay me dead! I lied to her—I said I was going to go to a party! And then, she's always warned me against playing in the water with friends—and I disobeyed her again! She's going to kill me," she moaned.

"Mum must have a good reason to why she wants that birthmark hidden," hissed Sparit. "Otherwise, she wouldn't get so upset every time she sees that it's not completely hidden."

"I can't tell her," retorted Deilia. "Besides, Dragonflame promised he wouldn't tell anyone about it!"

"And do you think he'll keep to that promise, Deilia? Dragonflame the bigmouth, Dragonflame the chatterbox, Dragonflame the revenge-seeker? He'll tell the first person that asks him!"

Deilia wiped her eyes again. "So he'll tell?" she whispered.

"Aye, he'll tell soon enough," replied Sparit, taking his sister's paw reassuringly. "Go on, you better go tell mum. She'll tell you what you can do about it."

When they entered Chawna's bedroom, they saw that she wasn't really asleep, merely weaving a red scarf through her fingers sadly. When she saw her two children enter, she started, dropping the scarf and sitting up.

"What's this?" she asked, motioning them to come in and close the door. "Deilia, have you been crying? What's wrong?" she demanded in a motherly voice.

"Mum, remember when I said I was going to a party? Well, really I went down for a walk with Dragonflame, that fox you hate, you know him," said Deilia wearily. "Well, we were on the beach, and we played in the water a bit…"

Chawna had turned pale, guessing what was to come. "Oh dear, Fangs of Fire!" she said. "What next?"

"We got back on the beach, and then he saw my birthmark, mum. He touched it, and he said something about it…. and we had a fight over it, too. He said he wouldn't tell anyone about it, but Sparit says he will…" she trailed miserably.

"Oh, Fangs of Fire!" Chawna repeated, clutching the bedpost. "Where is this Dragonflame now? Do you think we still have time to kill him before he tells anyone?"

"Kill him?" repeated Sparit incredulously. "Is it that bad?"

"If you don't kill him, Deilia will be killed in turn, and perhaps us too, my son! Do you know where Dragonflame is?" she hissed.

Deilia shook her head, frightened. "When I left, he was still on the beach, but he always sleeps in the barracks now, so that's probably where he's gone…"

"The barracks—too public, too full!" murmured Chawna, worried. "But we can check if he's still on the beach…yes."

She slid out of her bed, hurrying to the kitchen. Seizing two burlap sacks, she began tossing an assortment of dried fruits, dried fish, nuts, and several loaves of bread into them. Filling both, she thrust one apiece into the hands of her two bewildered offspring, and ran back to her bedroom. She returned abruptly, tossing two traveling cloaks, a blanket, and a fishing rod to them also. "Do you have your weapons, my dears?" she whispered.

"Of course, but what's going on?" cried Sparit, but his mother shushed him quickly.

"We're going to see if Dragonflame's still on the beach. If he is, we can kill him, dispose of his body, and then return back here, safe and sound. If he's not there, you two are going to escape."

"Escape?" repeated Sparit faintly. "But why—how? What is going on?" he demanded.

"I'll explain as we go," said Chawna, ushering them out of the house. "But try not to make too much noise, and put on those cloaks."

They did as then were bidden, and followed their mother out of the cozy house at a trot.

Chawna said nothing as they made their way to the coastline at a brisk half-walk, half-jog. The silence continued all the way until their feet touched the warmth of the sand, their eyes scanning for a glimpse of Dragonflame. He was no longer on the beach.

Chawna took in a sharp breath, craning her neck so that she could scan the majority of the beach. "He's not here, is he?"

Sparit shook his head, and Chawna took both his paw and Deilia's. "Follow me," she said, her voice sounding numb and scared. They followed her without protest or question of any kind, both confused and alarmed.

Sparit and Deilia ran across the beach, the sand slipping beneath their paws as they struggled to keep up with the extremely fleet-footed Chawna. Both of them were clutching heavy stitches in their sides, gasping for breath, when Chawna stopped, looking around furtively. The area was deserted, all save for a small rocky cave near the edge of the water. She motioned them toward it.

They climbed inside the cave, which was dark and reeked of stale water. They continued walking into the cave, water and mud squelching under their footpaws, until Chawna thrust out an arm, catching her son heavily in the chest. Deilia and Sparit both looked out at the foggy shape in front of them, squinting, trying to see what their mother already knew was there.

It was a boat.


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you everyone for all the nice reviews! I decided to take your advice, Mystic Fayth, and added a bit more on the Dragonflame/Deilia conflict:) To all--enjoy!

CHAPTER FIVE

Deilia gave a small little gasp at the sight of the boat, but Sparit blinked at it for a few seconds, and then burst into laughter.

"You're kidding, right? This whole fiasco is some stupid birthday joke on me, isn't it?" he demanded.

Chawna looked at her son, frowning. "This is not a joke, Sparit Flaizclaw. This is a life and death issue we're discussing here."

"Life and death issue? Well, first of all, Deilia and I don't even _know_ what this issue is!" snarled Sparit, losing his temper. "You've dragged us down here through the dark, expecting us to go sailing away on a little boat without even knowing why!"

"I'll tell you why," snapped Chawna, annoyed at Sparit's disrespectful rage. "It's because Deilia's not really my daughter or your sister!"

Sparit was stunned, as was Deilia. "She's not my sister?" repeated Sparit fiercely. "Then who in Hellsteeth is she?"

Deilia herself was taken aback. "I'm…not your daughter?" she said slowly.

Chawna shook her head. "You are the daughter of Blana Goldblade, a very good friend of mine. She was slain only a few days after giving birth to you."

Deilia was dumbstruck, so Sparit spoke instead. "Killed?" exclaimed Sparit. "Her parents were killed? How?"

"Not just killed—murdered. By Tazicale, Mirage, and a few of their friends. Your mother and father were ordered to be killed because they refused to take part in the torture and slaying of two young squirrelkits. Not only did they refuse to take part, they slew Mirage's father, who had already slain one of the kits. Mirage and her gang received permission to wipe out your entire family, and they did…or at least, they thought they did," sighed Chawna. "Only, your mother was able to bring you to my house before they caught up with her. I agreed to take you in as my own kit, because my own daughter, Sparit's real twin sister, died a few days after birth. When Mirage came to find you, I dyed a little birthmark onto my dead kit's paw, and presented her dead body as yours. They believed me."

Both Deilia and Sparit goggled at Chawna in disbelief. "I don't believe this," whispered Deilia. "I'm not even who I think I am, am I? I'm not the daughter of Chawna and sister to Sparit!"

"And I've been living with the prettiest vixen in the area while thinking she was my sister the whole time!""said Sparit, impressed.

Deilia ignored this statement. "Is my name even Deilia? I would think you'd have changed it…. so that Mirage would never know that I wasn't really your daughter."

Chawna nodded. "Your name is Tyleeria…a pretty name, don't you think? I hated changing your name, but I had to, as you understand. I suppose you know why you had to keep that birthmark hidden now, don't you?" she asked.

Deilia said nothing for a few seconds, then, sitting down next to the boat, she inclined her head. "Mirage must have known that the daughter of Blana had a funny birthmark on one of her paws. You had to keep mine hidden because the moment Mirage saw it, she would put two and two together. Like she will when Dragonflame tells her."

"Who said Dragonflame will tell her?" retorted Sparit unhappily. "I don't fancy sailing away, leaving all my friends and possessions here…"

"_You're_ the one that said we couldn't trust Dragonflame!" snapped Deilia furiously. "Or did you already forget?"

"I know I did, but listen here!" retorted Sparit. "Let's all go home, and you and mum can go to bed. I'll go off to the barracks and find Dragonflame. Then, I'll take him to the woods, beat the stuffing out of him, and make him promise that he won't tell anyone about our little secret, with punishment of death if he does tell. Besides," added Sparit, "Dragonflame and I have been best friends for seasons…I might not even have to threaten him that badly after all."

"We could try that," said Deilia softly. "Because I don't really want to leave home either, mum. I wouldn't want to leave you alone…and I wouldn't want to leave the place where I've spent my entire life."

Chawna bit her lip. "I only want you two to be safe," she said finally. "If you think that you could somehow force Dragonflame to keep his mouth shut, then I suppose I'd like it if you stayed with me too."

When Chawna continued to look worried, Sparit patted his mother's back reassuringly. "If you haven't noticed, mum, Deilia—er, Tyleeria and I barely know how to sail a boat anyways. We'd be in more danger at sea than at home. Besides, I promise I'll have a talking to with Dragonflame the minute we get back…he'll listen to me, one way or another. Trust me."

"And what if he doesn't?" said Chawna, pressing a paw to her lips. "What then?"

"Then Dei—Tyleeria and I will beat back down here and sail off as fast as we can, won't we?" he said, winking at Tyleeria. "Of course, we'll probably drown before making it out into open waters, but I suppose we'll have to risk it."

Chawna nodded finally. "Let's go home then," she said, "But leave those sacks of food and your supplies in the boat. That way, you'll be ready to leave at the shortest notice. And one last thing, Sparit."

Sparit threw his sack into the boat and looked up. "What is it?"

"If Dragonflame doesn't agree to keep his mouth shut, just slay him. It doesn't matter if you slay him in front of a whole crowd of beasts either…you can just tell them that Dragonflame stole something of yours. The law of Tazzur states that if a beast steals anything of yours, you can slay him without penalty."

"Convenient," said Sparit, grinning, but inside, he wasn't sure if he had the guts to murder his best friend.

Chawna got up wearily and motioned to Tyleeria and Sparit. "Let's go home then. Never get off your guard though, and always be ready to leave at a moment's noticed. You know the reason for my jumpiness and suspicions now, and I hope you understand why I act so protective. I don't want to lose you two," she said, her voice catching in her throat in a half-sob.

Tyleeria put a paw around her adoptive mother, smiling gently. "You'll always be my mother, Chawna. Don't worry, Sparit and I know now to play this sort of game—we'll be safe, believe me. I don't know about Dragonflame though…Sparit gets out of hand when he's mad sometimes," she joked, in an attempt to cheer Chawna up.

Chawna managed a weak smile before beginning the trek back home. Sparit nodded at both before sprinting off ahead of them, in the direction of the barracks.

Sparit was panting when he reached the barracks, but with one quick scan over the many heads, he knew Dragonflame wasn't there. Some of Sparit's friends waved him over hopefully, knowing that Sparit was always generous with lending money, but he shook his head and jogged out of the rowdy area, back onto the street.

Wiping his sweaty paws on his handsome belt, he quickly summed up where to look for his friend next—at Madame Urga's bar. Fishing his pocket for some change, he quickly found two coins and entered the bar. Spying Dragonflame, who was sitting in the corner looking very sullen and very drunk, he ordered a small cherry mint fizz and took a seat next to his friend.

"Ahoy, Dragonflame, what's the problem with yore mug?" he asked, flicking Dragonflame's ear playfully.

Dragonflame didn't smile. "Yore cat of a sister is my problem, Spar. She was playin' me for a fool!" he hissed. "And what's with that birthmark o' hers, anyways?" he demanded furiously. "Why's she so touchy 'bout it?" he asked loudly.

"Shhh!" snapped Sparit, trying to keep the smile on his face. "Keep yore voice down, will yer?" he said, his tongue rolling easily in corsair slang. "About that birthmark, yeah. You promised 'er you wouldn't mention it, dincher?"

"Yeah, but I'm in 'alf a mind not to keep tha' promise!" snarled Dragonflame angrily. "If she's so touchy with it, it'd be nice to make 'er nice 'n mad by telling e'vry one 'bout 'er stinkin' birthmark!"

"Don't do it!" said Sparit coolly, dropping his corsair's tongue. "I'm asking as a friend, Dragonflame-please, don't do it. Don't tell anyone."

"Now, wot's this?" yelled Dragonflame in his drunken anger. "Why're yew sidin' with 'er? Did I tell yew wot she did to me? She pretended she liked me, an' she really didn't! She made me look like a fool, even got me to give 'er flowers and harp about givin' 'er sweets as well! I thought she liked me, but she was o'ly fakin'! Now why shouldn't I punish 'er a bit? Tell me why she don't want anyone to know about tha' birthmark, Spar!" he demanded, shoving his friend against the wall of the bar.

Urga's eyes had snapped to the potential fistfight—she hated fights in her bars and often told her customers to save the fighting for outside. However, Sparit shook his head at Urga in a reassuring way and pried Dragonflame's paw from his throat.

"Yore drunk as Hellsteeth, Dragonflame. Let me go, an' let's go outside and talk, eh?" he said dangerously.

"Yeah, let's go out!" replied Dragonflame darkly. "I'll give you a message to give to yore dear sister!"

Sparit swilled down his drink quickly and dragged Dragonflame out of the bar. When they were outside, Sparit let Dragonflame go and spun him around to face him.

"How many drink have you had, Dragon?" he asked quietly.

"Six—Seven, I don't know!" Dragonflame answered angrily. "Wot's it to you? Not enough to drown my sorrows—that's a fact!"

"Enough to drown your senses, then?" said Sparit, his eyes flashing.

"You callin' me a fool?" roared Dragonflame, staggering. "You stupid Mother's whelp!" he snapped, and with that, hit Sparit hard in the chest.

Sparit stumbled, not expecting an attack, but reacted just as quickly. He pulled out his sword just in time to see Dragonflame swing his own sword at his head. Sparit deflected the blade and swung his hard against Dragonflame's, hoping the force of the blow would be hard enough to knock the sword out of Dragonflame's paw. Dragonflame, however, hung on to his weapon doggedly, although he staggered and stepped backward slightly.

"I thought you were my friend, Spar! I thought you'd be on my side!" raged Dragonflame. "Taste my knife, traitor!" he screamed.

Sparit narrowed his eyes, swinging his blade experimentally. "I don't want to kill you, Dragonflame. I just want to talk."

"Talk? Talk to the worms that'll be crawlin' over yore dead body soon, Mother's whelp of a traitor!" he hissed, jabbing his sword at Sparit wildly.

Sparit deflected the attack easily, and nicked his blade against Dragonflame's paw, hard enough to draw blood, but not hard enough to cause lasting damage. Dragonflame dropped his sword at once, clutching his injured paw, which began bleeding. "You cut me, stupidface!" he slurred drunkenly. "I'll cut off yore mother's tail for this, Sparit!"

Sparit never knew his friend to say such ugly things, but it didn't surprise him too much. Picking up Dragonflame's blade, he stuck it through a loop in his belt and menaced Dragonflame with his own sword. Seizing Dragonflame's tunic collar, he hefted him up and pinned him against a wooden fence none too gently.

"Now, Dragonflame, let us talk," he said cajolingly. "You aren't going to tell anyone about that birthmark, are you?" he said, tickling the sword at his friend's throat. "Repeat after me—'I'm not going to tell anyone about Deilia's birthmark.'"

"And who's gonna make me—you? Wotcher going to do if tell, Sparit? Yew gonna kill me? Why not do it now?" he challenged, ripping open his tunic to reveal his bare chest. "I'll make it easy for you, all you have to do is stab the blade in!"

Sparit faltered, and Dragonflame smiled. "Yore too soft-hearted to kill anyone in cold blood, Spar. Yore weak!" he taunted.

Sparit's face contorted furiously, and he swung the butt of his sword at Dragonflame, catching him hard in the nose. Dragonflame clutched his snout, which was spurting blood, as Sparit shoved him hard in the chest once more. "If you tell anyone about that birthmark, I'll be mad enough to slay anybeast, you hear?" When Dragonflame remained quiet once more, Sparit flared. "Do you understand?" he roared, shaking Dragonflame's limp body. "I'll torture you so bad that you'll be screaming for it to end! Do you understand, you stupid excuse for a fox!"

Dragonflame's eyes widened for the first time—Sparit had never looked so angry. He seemed to regain a bit of his senses as he said weakly, "Sparit, you don't have the guts to kill me, or you'd have killed me already."

Sparit flung Dragonflame to the ground and kicked him violently, swearing. "What do I have to do to make you keep quiet about this?" he said darkly. "Yore damned right I don't want to kill you, but you're not cooperating! If you ever tell, Dragonflame, I'll hunt you down myself and throw you into a nest of vipers…I have the guts to do that, I know! That way, it'd be the snakes killing you, not me!"

"Yore dagger, Sparit. The one you showed me today—the one your mother gave you for yore birthday. Give that to me, and I won't tell nobeast about that birthmark—I promise!" said Dragonflame quickly, deciding that any gain was better than none.

Sparit looked at Dragonflame and kicked him again. "How will I know you're going to keep to that promise, Dragonflame? You're a born liar!"

"If I tell, you can always kill me and get your dagger back!" he said hastily. "And you can kill my mother and father too, to satisfy your revenge. No one will be able to protect them, and they're no longer strong or fleet of paw."

"I'm not that dirty, like you are—I wouldn't want to hurt innocent beasts. It's not their fault they had a son like you!" spat Sparit angrily. Unbuckling the fancy new dagger from his belt, he tossed it to Dragonflame, who looked at it in awe. "If you tell, I _will_ kill you, Dragonflame. You know that, right?"

Dragonflame nodded. "I know, you'll kill me," he said meekly, but there was a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips.

"Then keep that mouth shut!" warned Sparit finally. "Keep it shut, or I'll close it for you—permanently!"

With those parting words, Sparit melted into the darkness. Dragonflame sat on the hard dirt floor, clutching Sparit's dagger and looking to the spot where Sparit had disappeared, his face a mixture of fear and anger. Then, he looked to at his new dagger, and a slow smile crept to his face. "Who knows how many other gifts Sparit will give me in exchange for my silence?" he mused. "All I have to do is to keep my mouth shut about some secret that I don't really understand anyways…. Sparit's fighting a losing battle," he snickered, his eyes feeding on the shine of the handsome dagger greedily. "Soon I'll own every nice thing Sparit's got, and when he has nothing left to give me…" his face lighted up into a cruel smile, "…I'll tell someone about that stupid birthmark, and watch the drama unfold. I won't be stupid enough to hang around, anyhow. Sparit will never know where to find me once I flee, and he'll never get any of his fancy trinkets back either!"

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Sparit hurried home, berating himself inwardly. He had let Dragonflame get the better of him, and he knew it. "I can't believe I didn't have the guts to just kill him and get it over with," he muttered to himself furiously. "Just one thrust, and our family's worries would be gone!" he seethed. "Instead, Dragonflame's got himself a new dagger, and I'm left feeling stupid. Life's not fair."

When he reached his doorstep, the door swung open to admit him immediately. "Well?" asked Chawna anxiously. "Did you scare Dragonflame into keeping his trap shut?"

Sparit squirmed with discomfort. "Well, maybe. He was drunk too badly to be afraid, and he even tried to fight me. But I bribed him, really. He wanted the dagger you gave me today, mother, and I gave it to him. It was the only thing he wanted enough to promise me that he'd keep his mouth shut. I'm sorry I had to give it away," he added hopelessly. "I know it was my father's and everything, but it was the only thing…"

Chawna's lip twitched and her eyes began to shine wetly again, but she smiled. "Well, as long as he keeps quiet, it doesn't matter. We're safe then."

"And if he does tell," snarled Sparit. "I will kill him."

"No," reproved Chawna, "You and your sister will be running away, while _I'll_ be the one killing him."

Both her offspring looked at her incredulously, and she grinned mischievously. "You think I'm incapable of slaying a mediocre little foxwhelp?" she said, shaking her head. "Just because I'm an old vixen now? Well, you'd be in for a surprise then!"

Deilia, finally getting accustomed to the name Tyleeria, giggled for the first time that night. "Spar, can't you just see our mum, dishing out the slashes and bruises?"

Sparit smiled also, but he was still writhing with disappointment. He found it hard to believe that he couldn't deliver one final thrust to end Dragonflame's life. Just one stab and everything would be normal again.

"What's wrong with me? Why couldn't I kill him? I'm a just a big chicken," muttered Sparit, rubbing his eyes furiously. "A big chicken, that's what I am!"

"What's that?" asked Tyleeria curiously. "Something about a chicken?"

Sparit shrugged it off. "Tis nothing…nothing at all. And definitely nothing about a chicken. You must be hearing things."

Chawna, however, had heard everything her son had muttered to himself. Smiling comfortingly, she squeezed his paw and raised his chin. "You couldn't kill him because you're better than that, Sparit. You couldn't bring yourself to kill him when you knew he was too drunk to think straight. You knew the battle would be one-sided in your favor, so you let him go. I don't blame you at all, Sparit. In fact, that's what makes you such a fine fox. You have a heart."

Sparit smiled bitterly. "Oh, yes, a heart. What I would give to not have one…things would be so much easier!"

Tyleeria surveyed Sparit with a thin-lipped smile. "Too true, Sparit, too true!"


End file.
